


Five Things That Never Happened to Sandrilene fa Toren

by themis



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-05
Updated: 2006-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themis/pseuds/themis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As in, not ONE of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Never Happened to Sandrilene fa Toren

**1\. For the sake of some things/That be now no more**

“How would you like to spend some time in Namorn, darling?” her mother asked over breakfast.

Sandry thought about Namorn’s ice and the bright colors that was its best defense against the cold. Sandry thought about Hatar’s humidity and the itchy feeling rising in the city. “I think I would like it very much,” she said. Her Namornese relatives weren’t _that_ bad, really.

Well…mostly.

Her parents smiled at each other over their plates. “I thought you might say that,” said her mother. “Do you  
think you can be packed for it by tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” said Sandry. She had never truly unpacked.

“Excellent,” her father said. “You are practically a young lady now, and I think some independence might be worth experiencing.”

 _I didn’t know I hadn’t experienced it,_ Sandry thought. She _wouldn’t_ change her mind now. She _couldn’t._

Sandry kissed her parents good-bye on the docks the next morning. She promised to write – they promised with equal fervor. Pirisi and a maid were both going with her as chaperones. It seemed she was not to be wholly independent.

When the ship docked in Summersea, Sandry stopped with her uncle Vedris for longer than they’d intended.

Three weeks into her visit with her uncle, they received news of the smallpox that was sweeping through Hatar.

 **2\. Men coveted this talon once.**

Sandry pulled on creamy leather gloves so she couldn’t see her attenuated fingers or the transparent, age-spotted skin, and thought how disgusting it all was.

Sandry did not like being old and powerful and frightening. She had never really liked being young and powerful and frightening – but at least then she had been young. Youth made up for a variety of things.

She pulled the skin of her face taught and shuddered at the sudden, unattractive change the mirror showed her. But there was no rule saying one had to be happy to grow old.

Sandry did intend to at least do so with acceptance.

Or something that would pass for it.

 **3\. The privileged class enjoying its privileges…**

It was perhaps eccentric of her to take _such_ an interest in her wedding gown, but Sandry didn’t care: if they hadn’t gotten used to her eccentricities where fabric was concerned, clearly they were too stupid to ever do so.

Sandry didn’t care about much as far as this wedding went. The dress was in many was her salvation.

“Well?” she asked Briar.

Her friend raised his eyebrows. “It’s very…”

Sandry giggled. “Exactly! I love it.”

“You look very regal if I forget to look at your nose,” he quipped.

Sandry scowled at him and went to change out of her wedding dress.

 **4\. If my love knew I could sew and spin/I’d make a coat of the finest kind**

Oh, she wanted him.

It was scary just how much she wanted him.

Tris and Daja shared an amused glance, laughing as silently as they could because really they didn’t want to embarrass their friend. Who was, so obviously, sunk.

“I think we should politely excuse ourselves,” Daja murmured to her. It did seem the diplomatic thing to do.  
And this way they could laugh at Sandry from a quieter location.

“Don’t you dare!” Sandry whispered fiercely. “I need someone to introduce me!”

They shared a look again. “Sandry,” said Daja patiently, “I don’t know him. Tris doesn’t know him. Get one of your relatives to do it.”

“I hate my relatives,” Sandry said. “Mostly. Certainly I don’t like any of them enough to ask them to introduce us.”

“Get Briar to do it,” said Tris with not a little malice. “I’m not sure why everyone’s been introducing him to the men, but they have. We’re going.”

“Good idea!” Sandry said brightly. “Wonder where he is?”

Tris and Daja slunk away while her back was turned.

 **5\. The leading banker in Amsterdam is now the pastry chef in our kitchen.**

Maybe it was too late for them.

But then again, maybe it wasn’t.

Sandry rubbed her nose and took out a sheet of paper. _Drought, famine, plague,_ she wrote. And then, her hand shaking, war.

For it was. War had come to Emelan, and the armies had reached Summersea now as well.

Sandry dashed tears from her eyes and began another list beneath the first.

 _Niko, Skyfire, Pasco, Moonstream._ Her hand was trembling. _Vedris, Rosethorn, Yazmin, Briar._ And Green Man knew what had happened to Tris.

She thought something was burning. She hoped it was documents. Just in case.

“Sandry!” someone yelled through the door. “Sandry! We’ve got to get out!”

So maybe it wasn’t documents burning. “It’s open!” she called, running instead to the window. She thrust her head out, and there…there it was.

Sandry had seen fires before. Forest fires. She’d seen them, and they were terrible. But somehow this was worse.

“Sandry,” said Daja. “Come on. I’ve got a – we can get out. But we have to go _now.”_

She turned to her friend, saw her lists on the table instead and closed her eyes. “Yes. I have to get some things, though.”

“Hurry,” Daja pleaded. “Hurry. The city’s burning.”

 _Of course the city’s burning,_ she thought, hurrying through her rooms. _I had in fact noticed._ She grabbed a box of jewels, a handful of clothes, a bowl of fruit. But how could they carry all of it? Her clothes weren’t fit for an escape. They weren’t really fit for anything. “I need different clothes,” she told Daja. “Take the jewels. And the food.”

Somehow Daja kept hold of them when Sandry thrust them at her. Sandry didn’t see how, she was searching for practical clothing.

 _Do I even have any left?_ She threw aside silks and velvets and searched for wool, for linen, for leather. For anything that wasn’t a skirt.

“Sandry,” called Daja. “Just take a cloak and something that won’t tear easily. We’ll get out, but only if we leave _right_ now.”

Sandry grabbed a loose pair of breeches and a handful of other miscellaneous clothes, bundling them in her arms. “I’m ready,” she said. “We…we can leave.”


End file.
